


Standing in the Corner

by morgan_cian



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-21 00:55:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/893907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgan_cian/pseuds/morgan_cian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The title says it all. A snapshot of a D/s moment between Master and slave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Standing in the Corner

My knee bounced. The clock ticked. Everything was as it should be. Newspaper ready. Coffee brewed and waiting. The clock continued to mark the minutes. My skin crawled.

He would not know. I would hide it and for once I would be successful. He would see that everything was prepared for him. Everything perfect and in its place, his lips would curve in satisfaction.

I wanted to share that satisfaction. The bile threatened to rise. I knew better. I knew my mask would be uncovered and he would see me for what I truly was. 

Fake. Forgettable. Ugly. Unlovable.

Before the keys rattled the lock, I knelt beside the door. Knees spread, hands open in supplication, my eyes on the floor. As much as I wanted to slump in defeat, I kept my back straight. Feigning the pride he said that he had in me and the parody of what I projected for him.

Familiar fingers stroked through my hair, twining within the length, a sharp prickle of pain. My breath caught involuntarily and I fought the need to wince. My master did not hurt me, the gentle tug to my hair. I knew he would not. Instead, he would see what I wanted to hide. What I was desperate to hold within.

The touch slipped downward to the collar at my throat and stilled. Biting down on my lip, my very air froze inside my chest. His hand left my nape leaving me feeling bereft. I did not receive permission to move as he continued through the parlor and into the den.

The clock ticked the minutes and I began to tremble.

"You should know better." Quiet reproach had my body lurching forward. Stiff muscles protested as my forehead touched the cold hard wood floor.

My gasp burst from my lips. I needed to beg, to plead forgiveness. To hide so that he would not see. To have a little while longer. The need to distract overrode my most basic of training.

"Stop." His voice was firm and unyielding.

The commands were quick, stinging with his displeasure.

Stand.

Strip.

Follow. 

The cool air made me feel vulnerable. The pain would be welcome; the punishment would help me hide even more. The heat would be another distraction, falling within myself until my master would only see what I wanted him to see. A caricature of the perfect slave.

My lack of focus caused me stumble into his back. I looked up in reflex. Unforgiveable. My jaws clamped together to silence the protest threatening to spill out. So much inside wanting to escape, to be free, to show just how disgusting that I am.

My master stood very still beside the corner that was prepared for me.

I wanted pain, I wanted to howl. Not this, my head shook from side to side. I hated this.

"When will you learn?" His voice had my stomach dropping to my toes. The resignation, the disappointment. "I will not give you what you want until you give me what I want."

The ball slipped between my unwilling lips. I bit down into the rubber, tears of anger welling in my eyes.

"It is what you need." His voice dropped lower, the warmth of it brushing against my skin. My hands were bound back, resting above my buttocks.

"Step forward."

My collar was hooked into the corner. The cuffs he tightened around my calves were clipped as well.

"Think," was his final command before he left me alone.

No, I snarled mentally, I would not. I would not give into it. No matter how much I wanted to give myself up, I would not do this.

I strained. My shoulders bumped into the walls. My fists were sweaty and clammy, my fingers twisted into each other. I could not get away. Away from my restraints, away from myself.

Throwing my head back, my collar held me tight. I howled behind the gag. In anger, in desperation, I needed to be free; I need to hide, not in this corner but in plain sight. 

I fought until I could fight no more. My shoulder heaved, lodged securely into the corner. My head was pressed forward. The thoughts that I denied started to surface. 

My insecurities, my fears, my doubts were all my own. Not my Master's, never his, all mine. He tells me over and over he can only help me if I give him all, if I don't hide. I can't hide from him, even as I try to hide from myself.

He cares for me, he wants to take care of me, he loves me. A love that is deep and sure, his need to dominate me secure, my submission not so much if I am unwilling to let go. To give him everything, not just what I want him to see.

He will see all, my insecurities, my fears; my doubts are his just as my body is his. Even as my body bends to his will so should my mind, my heart. To give him my submission completely, to become his slave, wholly his.

My breathing deepened, in and out my nose, my shoulders relaxing into the embrace of the corner walls, so cold and unforgiving. My master's love would be warm and comforting. I want my Master.

The keen sounded long and soft, from my throat, from my soul. Not a desperate sound but yearning, yearning to give him everything.

And he knew. He was there to catch me when I fell, when I let myself go. His hands were warm on my back, reassuring against my skin. He unclipped the collar for the wall, removed the restraints. My body sagged into his arms. His lips are on my warm forehead as he steadied me. He lifted me into his arms, like a small child my legs are draped over his arms, my face buried into his throat.

He carried me to his big chair in the den, so comforting where I kneel at his feet. He sat and held me, my head over his heart, his large hand stroking up and down my back. The blurriness receded, just the comfort remained.

He lifted my chin and stroked my face, along my cheek, my Master's caress. His eyes are serious.

"I never need to punish you, my own, you do so well on your own." I don't lower my eyes in shame. I keep them straight ahead gathering his comfort and his strength. "Are you ready now, my own?"

"Yes," and I am. All the words that I thought to hide tumbles out as his arms hold me, safe and secure.


End file.
